


polychromatic and pissed off about it

by asbestosgang



Category: Red Letter Media, RedLetterMedia RPF, redlettermedia
Genre: Beer, Gay, M/M, One Night Stands, Pining, Unrequited Love, Why Did I Write This?, actually sad gay MEN, hell yeah beer tag, sad gay man, shitty prose, sorry the sex is only implied this time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:20:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22108486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asbestosgang/pseuds/asbestosgang
Summary: Mike is hopelessly in love. Maybe Rich can take the edge off.
Relationships: Mike/Jay, Mike/Rich
Comments: 7
Kudos: 17





	polychromatic and pissed off about it

The lights were always changing color. Red, green, pink, blue, yellow, purple, orange. They changed too fast, dancing across Jay’s face, making him look beautiful in a strange way. Like an angel, or an alien, or an LSD hallucination. 

He wasn’t looking at Mike. He never did. He was watching a woman across the way, smiling as she tried to dance to music that was too loud, grating on Mike’s ears. It was always too loud, and the lights were always changing color, and Mike never liked being here, and he never said a damn word about it.

As far as Jay was concerned, they were both here to pick up girls, or guys, or whoever caught their eye in the crowded, noisy bar. Every time, Jay would find someone, and Mike would slip away, not wanting to watch the process; the flirting, the laughter, the light kisses, the brush and then tug of the hand as they went off somewhere else.

What was he doing here?

Jay’s face changed from pink to blue to yellow, and he leaned to the side, arm resting against the counter, closer to Mike but not looking at him, never looking at him.

“See anyone?” He asked, his voice curious.

“...yeah,” Mike lied, like he always did. He didn’t see anyone at all, except for the man in front of him. He had a nice profile.

“Good luck, then,” Jay chirped, hopping off the barstool and approaching the woman— her hair was light brown, almost blonde, and she was skinny. So, not like Mike at all. Jay never picked people that looked like Mike.

“...yeah,” he sighed, waving down the bartender. He paid for his drinks, standing up and walking towards an empty space by the wall. He leaned up against it, watching the crowd ebb and flow past him. The lights shifted constantly, making them look like a wave of color, a dizzying composition of brightly hued strangers. His head started spinning—he’d had too much to drink. He stared down at his feet for an indeterminate amount of time, trying to steady himself. When the room stopped swirling, he looked up. Across the way, he saw Jay, dancing with the woman. They were getting along well. He saw them laughing, their feet moving to the rhythm, when the shitty music had one. Mike closed his eyes, waiting for the music to drown out his sad, tired thoughts.

“Are you okay?”

He opened them. There was someone in front of him, looking at him with concern.

“What’s it to you?” He grumbled, in a reasonably shitty mood because the man he was in love with never looked at him.

“Oh, sorry! I just—I didn’t know if you were gonna pass out, or something,” the stranger stammered. He was almost as tall as Mike, but he didn’t carry himself the same way; he felt smaller, giving off a defeated aura, dreadfully pessimistic. He looked how Mike felt.

“I’m fine,” he huffed, watching the color bathe the stranger’s face; yellow, purple, orange, red. He wasn’t ugly. He wasn’t Jay, but Mike didn’t hate the sight of him.

“Oh! Um, that’s good.”

The stranger smiled, and Mike felt a little bad about his attitude.

“What’re you doing here?” He asked. “More than just bothering drunk strangers, right?”

“I-if I’m bothering you, I can—“

“It’s a joke,” he sighed (though he understood the confusion), and the other man bit his lip, his face flushing.

“Sorry. Um, I’m just here with my friends. They’re—uh, they’re dancing over there.”

He pointed in the direction of a small cluster of people, near Jay and the woman. They were rowdy, uncoordinated, but they looked like they were having fun.

“Not joining them?” Mike tilted his head.

“No, I’m not—I’m not a good dancer, and I don’t drink, either. It would just be embarrassing.”

“Then why’re you here?” Mike asked, not unkindly. 

“Well, I-I’m the designated driver. Sometimes. Sometimes they just take an Uber, but...uh...they don’t always...tell me.”

Mike raised an eyebrow.

“So...you’re not getting anything out of it? You just stand here waiting until they want to go home, and then you take them home? For free?”

“That’s—that’s not really—when you put it like that, it sounds—“ he fumbled for words, and Mike felt a drunken laugh swelling up from his chest, loud and inappropriate. They were doing the same thing, after all. Waiting. They don’t want to be left behind, left out, left alone, so they wait. Even though, really, while they’re waiting, they’re all alone anyways.

“You and me both, buddy,” he snorted, slapping the stranger on the shoulder.

“You’re the designated driver?” He asked doubtfully. Mike shook his head, glancing back at Jay having the time of his damn life.

“Worse.”

The other man didn’t seem to know how to respond, so he chose not to at all.

“So. What’s your name, DD?” Mike asked.

“Oh. Um, Rich.”

“And are you?”

“No, definitely not.”

Mike grinned at his own comedic genius, and Rich gave him a sheepish smile in return.

“I’m Mike.”

“Nice to meet you. Are you here alone?”

The words seemed to fall so casually from his mouth that Mike did a double take—and so did Rich, backpedaling hard.

“I didn’t mean—I just meant if you came with like, friends or—I swear I wasn’t—“

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Mike laughed, watching the lights illuminate his humiliated expression, making it feel almost cartoonish; green, pink, blue. The lights made things prettier sometimes, but other times they were too bright. Garish. It hurt to look at them directly. 

He wondered what he should say. Honestly, he hadn’t meant to stay as long as he had. Even though he arrived with Jay, he never stuck around long, and they never left together.

“Yeah. I’m alone.”

Like always.

“That’s—uh, good. I mean, it’s not good, but—I just mean—okay. Yeah,” Rich said, flustered. Mike glanced up, seeing Jay and the woman kissing, light at first, their hands brushing together. He pulled her closer. It was cute. Like a picture. Or a painting. They looked nice together, for just one night. The lights kept changing color as Mike felt his chest burn with a fire he didn’t know how to put out, the only thing he could feel anymore. 

He should just leave. After all, Jay had found someone. Mike didn’t want to see it happening, to watch Jay spirit away another curious stranger, leading them by the hand and making them feel real, if only for a moment—making them forget about the future and the past until they felt alive and awake, here in the moment and nowhere else, feeling the air on their skin and the rush of their own blood, all those things they’d forgotten about, present and real and so amazingly human—and then vanishing in the morning.

He knew it all firsthand, the feeling of life that Jay offered, because once, when he didn’t see anyone he liked, he took Mike instead. And even though he knew what Jay was doing, the line they were crossing, the heart he was breaking (his own, of course), he let him.

That’s why he was here, wasn’t it? He was on the bench, the sidelines, waiting to see if Jay would pick him. But he only did when there were no other players on the field. When Mike was the last man standing. The last option available after the process of elimination. 

How pathetic.

“Hey, Rich.”

Mike wasn’t like Jay. He didn’t understand what was so good about one-night stands, about having sex with a stranger and forgetting them in the morning. It felt careless, heartless, cruel. He didn’t know how to do it, either, how to whisk them away with a touch of the hand like Jay could, as if it were just another step in a dance.

But he could try. 

“You here alone?”

Rich looked confused for a moment. Obviously, he wasn’t. He’d just said he came here with his friends...but that wasn’t what Mike was asking. His face caught fire, and Mike watched him wipe his hands on his pants; he was sweating. It was kind of funny, how awkward he was. Poor talker. Easily caught off guard. Self-conscious, maybe too much. Not like Jay at all. 

Maybe that’s what he needed.

“Um, I’m—y-yes,” he stammered, his eyes wide. “But we can’t—my house isn’t—I’ve got a roommate.”

Mike laughed, surprised. 

“Gettin’ a little ahead of yourself, aren’t you?” 

Rich panicked, physically backing up until he bumped into someone—and they shoved him back into Mike.

“I’m so sorry! I was—I just thought—I didn’t mean—“

Mike kissed him, and he shut up, standing frozen like a deer in headlights.

“We’ll go to mine, then.”

Rich seemed stupefied, managing a quick, sharp nod, staring dazedly at Mike’s lips, and Mike wondered if he was any good at this, or if this man just held the world record for being the easiest to seduce.

Across the way, he thought he saw Jay watching him. He couldn’t see his expression. It didn’t matter anyways.

Mike grabbed Rich by the hand, leading him through the crowd of people, the lights shifting over them as the music thudded in his ears. They made it out the door, and it was cold outside, the wind sharp and biting. Mike could see his breath, letting out a slow sigh and watching it escape in a white mist.

“You’re driving,” he huffed, fascinated by the trail. “I’m too drunk.”

“Um, r-right, okay, but—what about my friends?”

Oh, right. The ones who abandoned him to get wasted and then want him to drive their drunk asses home.

“They can get a damn Uber.”

Rich’s grip on his hand tightened as he led the way to his car, and Mike took that as agreement.

“Wh-where, uh, do you live?” Rich asked as he opened the door for Mike—how polite. Mike waited for him to shuffle into the driver’s seat.

“Left at the light when you turn out. I’ll direct you.”

“Right, okay.”

“No, left.”

It took Mike a second to realize Rich meant right as in ‘yeah’.

“Fuck, sorry.”

Rich laughed, his voice sharp and bright—Mike liked it. It felt contagious, and he found himself chuckling a little, too.

“I’m not this bad sober, I promise.”

“I don’t mind. I do stuff like that all the time, too,” Rich replied, and Mike wondered if he was just being sympathetic to get laid.

Nah. He didn’t seem that sly. Plus, it was believable. 

“What about stuff like this?” He asked, and Rich paused.

“N-no, I really don’t. I’m not really—I’m just not used to it, I guess. What about, uh, you?”

Mike shook his head.

“Nah. Guess you’re just special.”

Rich didn’t say anything, but Mike could practically feel the heat radiating from him, and when he glanced over, he had a sappy grin on his face. 

It reminded Mike of his own expression when Jay had chosen him.

Everyone just wants to be special. That’s all. Doesn’t matter what it costs. Doesn’t matter what happens after, as long as, even if for one second, they can feel special.

Mike felt his chest ache. Tonight, he needed to forget Jay. And if he had to use Rich to do it—

“Take a right up here.”

He would. 

They got to his house with no issue, and he dug the keys out of his pocket, letting Rich in and flipping on the living room light.

“Um, it looks nice,” he started.

“You don’t have to lie,” Mike snorted, shrugging off his jacket.

“I’m not, it’s...oh. You like Star Wars?” Rich pointed to the poster hanging in the hallway, the one Jay always made fun of him for having.

“Uh. Yeah, I—yeah,” he mumbled, embarrassed.

“I, uh, really like it too. But. You know, just the earlier films, mostly.”

Rich smiled at him, and Mike wondered if it was supposed to be this...friendly. It was almost too casual. He didn’t feel any tension at all. Maybe they were doing it wrong.

“Oh, sorry, should I take my shoes off?”

“...at some point, yeah,” Mike quipped, toeing his off and kicking them away. Rich untied his laces, slipping out of his tennis shoes, picking them up and setting them down in front of the door. Mike wondered if he was always this meticulous, or if he was just nervous. After looking at Rich’s shaky hands, he figured it was the latter.

Mike stepped towards him, and Rich followed suit. They moved awkwardly, one step at a time, as if performing the world’s worst waltz. Mike had never been a good dancer. 

When they met in the middle, Mike reached up, stroking Rich’s cheek, like he’d always wanted to do with Jay. Rich flinched, and Mike pulled back, afraid he’d messed up. His face burned, and he avoided Mike’s eyes, but he didn’t step away—so maybe he didn’t fuck up that bad.

“Sorry! It’s not—it’s not that I don’t, y’know, want to, I just—I guess I’m nervous.”

“No, I get it. It’s fine if you don’t want to, you can just go home, it’s not—“ Mike realized now that he was essentially kicking someone out of his house because they wouldn’t sleep with him, and now he felt like a jerk. “I mean, uh...”

There was nothing to say to remedy the situation—or if there was, Mike didn’t know what it could be. How did Jay pull this off? What was he missing? The charisma? The confidence? The looks? This was humiliating.

“...we’re both bad at this, aren’t we?” Rich asked, good-natured exasperation in his voice. Mike rubbed the back of his neck, letting out a tired sigh.

“Yeah. Reeeeal bad.”

“It’s not like this in the movies. Everything goes at lot...smoother.”

“Not like this in porn, either.”

Rich laughed.

“Have you seen enough of it to know?” he asked, amused.

“Look, I’m just trying to set the mood,” Mike drawled. Rich grabbed his collar, pulling him close and kissing him hard until both of them were breathless.

“Okay, that worked,” Mike panted, pulling away just far enough to get some air.

“Good to know,” Rich chuckled, also breathing heavily, a dizzy smile on his face.

“Still nervous?” 

“Oh, definitely, but I like your face, so I figured I might as well go for it.”

It was Mike’s turn to blush now. He hadn’t expected this guy to have any game. 

“Bedroom’s down the hall, last door on the left. If you still want to,” he said, his voice coming out husky, a low rumble that Rich seemed to enjoy. He nodded, and Mike felt his heart skip—oh, shit, this was happening, and he really wanted it to.

They stumbled down the hallway together, and Mike shouldered open the door. Neither of them bothered to turn on the light. It was strange—he was sure they weren’t doing it “right”, but they didn’t seem to care anymore. They fumbled in the darkness, laughing when one of them bumped into something, struggling with their clothes and each other, finding their way somehow, Mike touching fabric and fabric and fabric and then—skin. Eventually, their eyes adjusted (as they were wont to do), and Mike could make out Rich’s face, his embarrassed smile, sincere and nervous and a little bit lonely.

And he thought, in the soft, familiar darkness of his messy bedroom, that it was a whole lot prettier than all the colors in the bar.

**Author's Note:**

> I lied. I had the foolish ambition to bust out a whole 27-chapter, 2,298,127 word slow burn, but then I realized I have neither the time nor writing capability to do so. It's not technically porn though so I don't have to suck toes. Actually, this might be worse because I don't know WHAT it is. Anyways I am no longer making promises because I have discovered that I have the reliability of a dad who left to get milk twelve years ago.


End file.
